get to you, Portia.
He’s not the man for you.
As the limo pulled up to the hotel, Juan Carlos spoke to the driver. “Give us a minute please, Roberto.”
The driver’s door opened and closed quietly. Silence filled the air and suddenly she did feel crowded, though Juan Carlos hadn’t made a move toward her. “I cannot walk you to your door, Princess.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? Do you know how much I want to?” His eyes were down, gazing at her hand as his thumb worked circles over her fingers. Her nerves jumped, like kernels of corn popping in a fry pan, one right after the other. “I don’t want to cause you any inconvenience.”
“I...know.”
He tugged her hand gently and she fell forward, closing the gap between them. His dark-fringed eyelids lifted; she was struck by all-consuming heat. He wasn’t moving a muscle, but leaving it up to her. As if she had a choice now. As if she could deny him. His mesmerizing hunger was contagious; years of abstinence made her hungry, as well. Her gaze lowered to his mouth. Lord in heaven, she wanted his kiss.
She moistened her lips and his eyes drew down immediately. “You leave me no choice, Princess.”
He used a finger to tilt her chin, and then bent his head toward her. Anticipation pulsed through her veins. Every single second was an unnerving kind of torture. And finally, his mouth was on hers, his hand coming to wrap more firmly around her jaw, as if he couldn’t get enough, as if he would devour her.
Long live the king!
Her tummy ached from goodness and she indulged like a miser finding a hidden supply of cash. She touched his face, his jaw steel under her fingertips, and a groan erupted from his throat.
A whimpering mewling sound came from hers. Mortification would have set in, if the king wasn’t equally as needy. But there was no shame, just honesty, and it was, after all, the kiss to end all kisses. Juan Carlos didn’t let up, not for a moment. His lips worked hers hard, then soft, then hard again. Under her dress, her nipples ached. She was pretty sure the king was experiencing the same agony, but farther south on his body.
She didn’t know whose mouth opened first, or whether it was at the exact same instant, but suddenly she was being swept up and hollowed out, his tongue doing a thorough job of ravaging her. Any second now, she’d be out of her head with lust. But Juan Carlos placed his hands on her shoulders and, she sensed, with great reluctance, moved her away from him.
He leaned back against the seat, breathing hard. “I’ve never made love to a woman in a limo before, Princess. It wouldn’t take much to change that,” he said. He tried for amusement, tried to chuckle, but a serious tone had given away his innermost thoughts.
“It would be a first for me, too,” she said, coming up for air.
A rumpled mess, she tried her best to straighten herself out before she exited the limo.
He pressed a button and the window rolled down. Roberto appeared by the car door. “See Princess Portia to her hotel room,” Juan Carlos said calmly. He’d gotten his emotions in check already, while she was still a ravaged jumble of nerves.
Again, those warm brown eyes lit upon her. “I’ll send a car to pick you up for dinner at seven.”
She swallowed. “Maybe...we shouldn’t,” she squeaked.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked, though his confident tone indicated that it wasn’t even a concern.
She shook her head. “I’m leaving in the morning.”
“And you love your job. Your career means a lot to you. Yes, that’s clear.”
He’d made her refusal seem silly. And it was. Nothing would happen unless she wanted it to happen. She already knew Juan Carlos was that type of man.
“I’ll see you tonight,” she said finally. When the driver opened the car door, she rushed out.
She hadn’t exactly lied to him, had she?
She said she’d be gone, and he thought she meant back to the States. But she’d made up her mind to vacation on the shores of Alma, at least until the end of the week.
But he didn’t need to know that.
* * *
After a late lunch, Juan Carlos had a meeting in the city with the prime minister and few of Alma’s most trusted and prominent business leaders. He struggled to keep his mind on the topics at hand. The restoration of the entire country was a tall order. But every so often, his mind traveled to that place where Portia was in his arms. The image of her lips locked on his, their bodies pulsing to the same lusty rhythms, knocked him for a loop and sent his brain waves scrambling. She was, in his estimation, perfect. For him. For the country.
Wow. Where had that come from? Why was he thinking of her in terms of permanence? As a queen for Alma, for goodness’ sake.
Because aside from the fact that his sensual response was like the national flag being hoisted to full mast every time he looked at her, there was no doubt in his mind that she could take a place by his side at the throne.
As a public figure, he was never alone much anymore, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t lonely. He hadn’t had a serious relationship for years. His ambition had gotten in the way and sure, he’d had a few women in his life, but nothing serious. No one who’d made him feel like this.
Portia’s face flashed in his mind, that porcelain skin, those ice-blue eyes, that haughty chin, that mouth that tasted like sweet sin. The snow queen had become important to him in a short time, and...
“Your Majesty? Juan Carlos, are you all right?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” Prime Minister Rivera was giving him a strange look. “Just deep in thought.”
They’d been talking about how to bring new enterprise to Alma and how the rise of the monarchy would bring in tourism. They needed to brand themselves as a free country and show the world that democracy reigned, that new visitors and new businesses were welcome to their stunning Atlantic shores.
“Actually, I have an idea as to how to draw more tourists,” Juan Carlos said.
“Really?”
Alex Ramon’s ears perked up. As the deputy prime minister of commerce, he was fully immersed in the issue. “Tell us your thoughts.”
“It’s been rumored in our family for years that our ancestors had stashed a considerable amount of artwork, sculptures and paintings on land that had fallen to ruin. Land that Tantaberra overlooked. Right before the family was deposed, they’d thought to hide the art so it wouldn’t fall into the dictator’s greedy hands.”
Juan Carlos’s mind was clicking fast. He didn’t know how true those rumors were. He’d only heard the tales while growing up; Uncle Rafael had spoken of hidden treasures the way a master storyteller would about a pirate’s bounty. It had all been exciting, the sort of thing that captured a little boy’s imagination. But the rumors had held fast and true during his adulthood,
